Wire
by Drown Me In Blue
Summary: Four times Kurosaki Ichigo left Hisagi Shuuhei speechless, and one time Shuuhei returned the favor.


**Pairing: **_Shuuhei Hisagi x Ichigo Kurosaki_

**Music:** Howl_, by Florence + the Machine_

**Word count:** ~ 3000

**Rating:** T

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_**Prompt 54: **__Wire_

**(Or, Four Times Kurosaki Ichigo left Hisagi Shuuhei Speechless, and One Time Shuuhei Returned the Favor)**

* * *

**1.**

Standing in front of an entire class of new students, nerves strung as tight as wire, Shuuhei decided he would never know what he had done to offend the Captain-Commander enough to get put on Academy duty. It was a special brand of hell, standing up in front of a hundred or so fresh-faced new recruits and spouting off the prepared drivel about duty and honor and teamwork, and Shuuhei hated it.

This class also just happened to be host to one Kurosaki Ichigo, which only doubled the horror.

To be fair, Kurosaki wasn't making any trouble. He sat in the middle of the class, took notes, paid attention, and didn't roll his eyes too much at some of the more hackneyed lines Shuuhei had to throw in. It was better than the rest of the class, at least, one third of which was bored, one third of which was asleep, and the last third of which was absolutely terrified. It also made Shuuhei remember one of Kurosaki's friends saying something about him being a good student, near the top of his class in the world of the living. Kurosaki was also getting rather good marks at the Academy—not just in the martial arts, but also in history and tactics and the like. He wasn't resting on his laurels or riding on his name, despite the fact that he easily could have.

Shuuhei was a little impressed, even if he'd rather hang himself than say so. He'd expected to hate the substitute for his wild and reckless ways, his brashness and quick temper, but instead he was confronted by a young man who was very much like he had been in the Academy. Quiet, aloof, a little bit angry, and ultimately focused only on succeeding.

It was shocking, just a little, to be proven so utterly wrong.

Off to the side, Matsumoto—sent by Hitsugaya to represent him, as the Tenth Division captain was in the Rukongai on patrol—was making doe eyes at a brawny student, who was returning the interest with wholehearted enthusiasm. Shuuhei controlled his own eye roll as he finished his closing statement.

_How did this become my life?_ he wondered wearily.

Although Shuuhei wasn't quite sure why, it was a surprise that Kurosaki didn't immediately bolt for the door after he was done speaking, like most of the others did. Instead, he calmly gathered up his notes, ignoring the childish giddiness of his neighbors and seemingly uncaring that they were all shooting him awed looks. After all, he was a war hero, for all that he was also a student.

Shuuhei just looked at them all for a few moments. Whatever one could say about Kurosaki's physical youth in comparison to his classmates, in terms of mentality he was already a handful of _centuries_ older and wiser. It showed, too, in the way he held himself apart from them.

One shy, quiet girl who had been sitting in the front—one of the terrified one, who Shuuhei was almost certain would wash out within a month—seemed to gather her courage and made her way up to the redhead, clutching her books to her chest. Over the sound of Matsumoto's flirting, Shuuhei could just catch her near-silent request for help.

He expected Kurosaki to look at her and scoff, or glare, or just walk away.

Instead, the former substitute pinned her with an assessing gaze, then shouldered his books and nodded. He wasn't nearly as quiet, so Shuuhei heard him clearly when he said, "Yeah, I'll help you study. But you've gotta do part of this yourself, too. If you don't _want_ to be a shinigami, you'll never get it."

That was…actually helpful advice. Shuuhei blinked at Kurosaki in astonishment as he led the small girl out of the hall. By the time the door slid shut behind them, his mind was already spinning with half-formed plans and ideas that probably had no bearing on anything.

But…what if they did?

What if Kurosaki could really become a shinigami who would truly benefit Soul Society in the wake of three captains' betrayal?

* * *

**2.**

The second time Kurosaki shocked him to speechlessness was quite a bit different. It was just a few weeks before graduation, Shuuhei knew, and the last place he expected to find a student was wandering around a forest near the Shiba home. Especially this student.

At a hundred paces from the former substitute, Shuuhei came to a stop, waging an inner battle. One part of him—the one that still insisted that Kurosaki Ichigo was a hotheaded, impetuous warrior with no respect for either power or authority—urged him to turn around, walk away, and finish his patrol in peace. The other part—which remembered the face of that small, quiet girl and the absolutely blinding smile on her face when she joined the Gotei 13 a year previously—wanted to go over and wipe away the odd, lost, nearly blank look on Kurosaki's face.

Really. Shuuhei didn't have to know Kurosaki even as much as he did to know that blankness was something _far_ out of the ordinary for him.

The second part won out, in the end. Shuuhei settled Kazeshini at his side and shoved through the surrounding undergrowth, ignoring the branches that whipped at his bare arms. It was a testament to Kurosaki's distraction that he didn't even notice Shuuhei until the lieutenant was almost on top of him, taking a seat against a nearby tree trunk and waiting in silence. Shuuhei didn't offer any words, didn't ask anything as Kurosaki paced. He'd seen that expression before, on new recruits and old soldiers alike who had something on their mind they'd rather air, even if it took some doing.

Eventually, Kurosaki let out a sharp breath and threw himself to the ground next to Shuuhei, dropping his head back against the tree with a sigh. "That obvious?" he asked dryly.

Shuuhei considered making it a joke, shrugging it off, but that seemed a little too rude. After all, from everything he'd heard Kurosaki was a tightlipped bastard where his problems were concerned, and right now he actually appeared about to _talk_ to Shuuhei. So instead, he simply nodded and offered, "You can vent, if it'd help. I promise it won't end up in the paper."

Kurosaki actually snorted at that, verging on laughter, and closed his eyes. "I died when I was still pretty young, relatively," he said after a moment. "And I haven't really been dead for that long. There hasn't been a lot of time to really sort out who _I _am, any more than when I was fifteen."

The number was obscenely low to Shuuhei, a shock to hear. One thought of the savior of Soul Society as a hardened warrior, as something more than a _teenager_. But…Kurosaki had died only a few years after the age of fifteen, body and soul weakened for the strain of constantly being forced apart. Whatever short time he'd had, it had been spent in almost constant battles. He probably hadn't had any time at all to sort out most of the things people realized by the time they were his age.

It was easy enough to draw the right conclusions, even from just those three sentences. Kurosaki must have come to some sort of startling realization, and was trying to understand either why it hadn't happened earlier or why it had happened at all. Trying to keep his expression inviting, Shuuhei looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.

Kurosaki saw the look through slitted eyes and chuckled, shaking his head with weary amusement. "Byakuya came to give a lecture on tactics for long-ranged zanpakuto at the Academy," he admitted. "He walked into the room and the first thought that came into my head was _yum_."

Whatever careful, consoling words Shuuhei had been about to offer evaporated as a cackle of horrified, helpless laughter escaped his mouth. He slapped a hand over his lips to muffle any further sounds, shoulder shaking with shocked amusement. If only he could see Captain Kuchiki's reaction to that statement—the look on his face would be _exquisite._

Next to him, Kurosaki started to laugh too, until the wood rang with, both of them letting go of their mirth where Senbonzakura couldn't touch them. Eventually, Shuuhei managed to get himself back under control, sides aching and eyes watering, and wiped a shaky hand over his face. "God, if you ever say that to his face, give me advanced warning and time to grab a camera," he ordered, shaking his head. "Though it really could have been worse. The first time I thought that it was about Yamamoto's lieutenant."

Kurosaki huffed out a breath of amusement and ran his fingers through his hair. "So it's all right? There's no prejudice about it or anything?"

Shuuhei shrugged. "I wouldn't say that. There are assholes everywhere, especially among the lower seats. But look at Kyoraku and Ukitake—they're powerful enough not to catch any crap for it. You won't, either, I'm sure."

"And Ikkaku and Yumichika might as well have 'married and domestic' tattooed on their foreheads," Kurosaki agreed wryly, rubbing his hands over his face and getting rid of all traces of his earlier mirth. For reasons Shuuhei didn't completely understand, he rather mourned its loss. "I didn't think there was anything wrong with it. It was just a shock, you know?"

Remembering a time when his attraction to both sexes had left him reeling and uncertain, Shuuhei nodded. On a whim, he reached out and patted Ichigo on the shoulder. "Well, if you ever need to talk about it, I'm available. Though it does explain why you avoid Matsumoto when most guys your age would be hurling themselves at her. Not that I blame you."

That made Ichigo—_Kurosaki_—laugh again, even as he stood. "Thanks, Lieutenant. I'd better get back to the Academy before my last class." He paused at the edge of the little clearing, glancing back over his shoulder and offering Shuuhei one of those so-rare-as-to-be-unheard-of smiles. "Really. Thank you."

With a flicker and a step, he was gone.

Shuuhei sank back against the tree and stared up at the sky, wondering just how much he had left to learn about Kurosaki Ichigo.

* * *

**3.**

When graduation finally did come, Shuuhei actually attended, much to his own surprise. The last time he had gone was when Abarai, Kira, and Hinamori finished, though, so he felt he was probably due.

The fact that Ichigo—_Kurosaki_, damn it! No matter how many times they'd talked, they weren't that close—was graduating had nothing to do with it.

The speaker introduced each student in order of the rank they were attaining in the Gotei 13, then alphabetically by name. The highest ranks were last, and Shuuhei had no misconceptions that Kurosaki would be anything but a captain or a lieutenant. Nor would Yamamoto agree to have him placed anywhere but one of the three divisions left open after Aizen's betrayal. Having a war hero—especially one like Kurosaki Ichigo—in one of those positions would go a long way towards redeeming the division in the Seireitei's eyes.

It was little surprise that nearly all of the captains had attended, as well. Shuuhei could pick out everyone except Suì-Fēng in the crowd, as well as most of the other lieutenants and a few of the lower seats. They weren't here for anyone but Kurosaki—an entire army, waiting with bated breath to find out where his future lay.

Shuuhei was impressed that Yamamoto had managed to keep the decision to himself for so long. He had probably been hounded about it for weeks now, with the polite sort of insistence that all of the captains but Zaraki seemed to excel at.

"Kurosaki Ichigo," the speaker finally called, after all of the other graduates had left the stage and only Kurosaki remained, stern and scowling in his new black robes. "Newly appointed Captain of the Ninth Division. Please step forward."

_Well fuck me_, Shuuhei thought into the thunderous silence, and even he couldn't tell if that thought was full of childishly smug glee or bone-deep dismay._ I never expected _that.

* * *

**4.**

On the one-year anniversary of Ichigo's appointment—and Shuuhei had all but given up on any attempt to call him Kurosaki, at least to himself—three Arrancar managed to break through into the world of the living. As the 9th was on call, Ichigo and Shuuhei called up a squad and took them through the senkaimon, though even the lower seated officers were to act strictly as backup until Byakuya could join them. Shuuhei remembered the Arrancar from the Winter War very well, and he wouldn't let anyone less powerful than Yumichika face one, even if that dropped the odds for him and his captain down to three against two.

At first, it seemed as though it would be easy enough. Shuuhei's opponent had gone down quickly, and he hadn't even had to release Kazeshini. He struck the final blow and turned to check on his captain, only to find out that one of the Arrancar had the ability to split himself and multiply.

The odds, which had looked so inspiring before, now turned deadly.

It should have been a simple mission, relatively easy even with the Arrancar.

Instead, the multiplying Arrancar targeted the squad of foot soldiers, and Ichigo lost control.

It was like nothing Shuuhei had ever seen before. A Hollow mask and burning eyes, where before there had been fond scowls and warm brown. Bloody glee, where there had been righteous fury.

Death, where—to Shuuhei at the very least—Kurosaki Ichigo had never signified anything but life.

The creature wearing Ichigo like a cheap festival mask laughed and cackled and tore his way straight through the ranks to the original, and then killed him with a single stroke. All the rest crumbled to ash, but the creature barely paused. With one last glance back at Shuuhei, he was gone.

Shuuhei remained where he was, frozen. Those eyes had been Ichigo's, even if only for a second. Whatever had happened to him, he was fighting it.

That was enough to push Shuuhei into going after him, flash-stepping past an equally shocked Byakuya as he chased his captain towards the Vizards' old warehouse base.

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**+1.**

Ichigo had no idea why he'd returned to this place, except that it seemed as good a place as any to run to when he was suddenly confronted with what he'd been trying to hide for years now.

_And the look on Shuuhei's face. God._

He'd looked as though Ichigo had stabbed him. And Ichigo could of. One ounce less control, an inch less fight against the Hollow, and it would be enough to make him kill his own division. In that way, Ichigo suspected he was even worse than Aizen. After all, the traitor had never tried to gut his own division members when he was supposed to be protecting them.

_Shuuhei_.

In despair, Ichigo dropped onto one of the big rocks the Vizards had always congregated on, letting Zangetsu drop from numb fingers. He'd loved Shuuhei for a while now, ever since their careful talks while Ichigo was in the Academy. It had been Shuuhei who had finally convinced him to be a captain, which the lieutenant was probably regretting fiercely right now. Terrible, to have one of the monsters you spend your entire existence fighting show up buried in your captain's mind. That was a great one for morale.

"_Fuck_!" Ichigo spat, slamming his fist into the rock. Skin split, blood splattering his white _haori_, but he was beyond caring.

"I'd rather talk, personally, but if you'd like, we can get to that at some point."

Ichigo flinched at the unexpected voice, turning to find his lieutenant staring down at him with a raised eyebrow. When Ichigo failed to respond, Shuuhei rolled his eyes slightly and added, "Or we can fight, though I'd prefer it if I didn't have to bring Kazeshini out. Or we can pretend this never happened and go back to the squad. They're worried about you after you took off like that." He dropped down to settle cross-legged beside Ichigo, wearing his best Zen face—though how, Ichigo hadn't a clue. Surely even his infamously coolheaded lieutenant had felt something after finding out his leader was hiding a secret like this.

Scowling at that thought, Ichigo turned away. "About a Hollow that lives in their captain's head?" he asked disgustedly. "Right. Pull the other one, it's got bells on it."

A stronger eye-roll this time, and Shuuhei reached out and smacked him lightly on the back of the head. "Get over yourself," he warned sternly. "You're not the only one who has a power he hates or fears. But there's one thing that Tousen taught me, which I never forgot. '_He who does not fear the sword he holds is not worthy of holding a sword.'_ So get over this. Accept it. Come back."

Ichigo stayed stubbornly silent, hoping that he'd give up and leave Ichigo to mourn his shattered life in peace. He didn't feel anything, because to feel anything at that point would have been to feel _everything_, and he couldn't have borne it without cracking.

Shuuhei released a soft sigh, and then large hands—calloused from both zanpakuto and guitar strings, destruction and creation, were on Ichigo's elbows, turning him around to face the lieutenant, and soft lips covered his own.

"Come back because I love you," Shuuhei whispered into his mouth, and Ichigo couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't have been a sharp and heartfelt _yes._

He said it anyway.

Maybe that made him weak.

Maybe that made him human.


End file.
